Lonnie

He was among the last to arrive for the audition of Power Play. A heavyset male of medium height dressed in a shirt that came down to his knees, pants that practically began at his knees, a smirk on his face. When I looked at him, as if reading my mind, he assured me he was an enrolled student and asked if I was the director. I nodded. He told me the play’s title intrigued him and reminded me the audition was open to all students, not just drama majors, which was true. He made a point of telling me how happy he was to see there were other Black students trying out.

When everyone who wanted to audition had arrived, before I started the audition process, I described the play and the unusual set—a ten by ten-foot cube made with four-inch boards. Actors had to be in good physical shape, comfortable walking on heights. In addition, at the end of the play, the lightest actor would fly off the top and be caught by the cast. Upon hearing this, many students left. Lonnie spoke up. “You should cast me. I’m probably the strongest person trying out.” I laughed. He grinned. I cast him along with seven other students, a total of four males, four females. 

He was late to the first rehearsal. I warned him. Lateness was unacceptable. I would not tolerate it. He nodded. I began with a vigorous warmup that left him gasping for breath. I paid no attention and started working on the physical aspects that would need the most practice. Cast members took turns jumping from increasing heights. Lonnie insisted on being one of the catchers. “I’m too heavy to be caught.” All the actors wanted him to be one of their catchers.

The next time he was late, I was annoyed. “This is the second time you’ve been late. One more and you’re out.” He shrugged, muttering a half-hearted apology. We began the rehearsal with a vigorous warm up. Lonnie, barely managing to keep up with the rest of the cast, walked out before the practice ended, with no explanation. 

I thought he’d left for good, but he returned as we were working on the script. “I needed a drink of water.” 

“You can’t just leave,” I said, not trying to hide my irritation. “This is a rehearsal. You have a part to play. If you’re not here you leave a hole in the script. Besides, we have scheduled break times. If you need extra water, bring a bottle with you. This is a company. We work together. All of us. No exceptions.” The tension in the cast didn’t dissolve until catching practice. Everyone wanted to be caught by Lonnie. 

He arrived early for the next rehearsal. I breathed a sigh of relief when he continued to come on time. Maybe he wanted to be in the play badly enough not to be kicked out. Hah! 

Then he was late for the third time. I was angry. “You’re late. I warned you what would happen. You’re out. I’ll find someone to replace you. Leave.!” He looked stunned. “What? Didn’t I clearly state the rules?” He shrugged.

The other cast members, upset at my decision, spoke up as he prepared to leave. “Like you said, we’re a company. You can’t just throw him out.” “He deserves another chance.” “We want him to stay.” I listened. Not moved. He’d been warned. He ignored my warning. He was out!

Lonnie and I stared at each other while the other cast members argued among themselves—for and against his leaving. Finally, Latisha spoke. “We have a right to be part of this decision. We decided Lonnie should stay. He works hard. He’s the best catcher. We’ll make sure he’s on time from now on.” They made a half circle behind him, as if to emphasize their decision.

“Okay,” I said, “but I will not tolerate lateness. Next time he’s late, he’s out and nothing you can say or do will change my mind.” They assured me there would be no next time. There wasn’t. 

Opening night, at the end of the play, one of the women stood on the top of the ten-foot cube and spoke her words, “The air in me and me in the air.” Then she let herself fall into the empty space, soon filled by cast members, with Lonnie the chief catcher. The audience gasped. The cast smiled and took their bows. As the audience clapped, the company, big smiles on their faces, pushed Lonnie out in front. The audience stood up, whistling and cheering. We played to full houses for the duration of the run.

It was not only a play; it was also a course. Students had to evaluate their work and assign themselves a grade. Lonnie ended his evaluation: I deserve an A because I gave up more than anyone else in the class. 25 pounds. He got an A. 

When have you had to rethink a judgment you made?

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june 2025 stories